First I want to say that I am not a spokesman for any Tribe or Nation.  I speak only with my own voice.

          The Earth is My Grandmother
 
          Since the late 1960's many people have used that phrase as an expression of relationship and an exhortation to responsibility.
          I'm not going to tell you that this was the Indin Way because there were so many distinct and different People's sharing this Turtle Island that it would be an insult to them to lump them all together, as Hollywood has done- pretending that they are all one people with one philosophy and religion.
         That is not to say that our People's did not have similarities in their outlook on life.  Romantics like to think that American Indin's were all  ecologically pure people.  This wasn't any more truthful then than it is now.  Tribal peoples are efficient and frugal out of necessity.  But what separates  Tribal man from Modern man- is his relationship with, his daily dependence on, and his appreciation of- the environment that provides him with life's necessities. In one way or another -  all that we have is derived from Nishkehehmon- Grandmother Earth, and the Families who give up their lives to provide for the Human Beings.  Even the greatness of this Nation, often attributed to the ideals and sacrifices of a few men in the 1700's, owes all of its greatness to the incredible resources, geographies, climates and teeming life to be found on this continent.
 

           Think about it- few of us get to witness the actual planting and harvest, the wilting and dying of the foods and plants that sustain us.  Few get blood on their hands and see life fade from the eyes of the animals that are chosen to be taken on our behalf.  Few get an opportunity to participate in the cleaning, preparation and creation of the foods we take for granted on the grocery shelves.  And this applies as well to our clothing, our medicines, our fuels, transportation, and entertainment- every single part of our lives.

                     This distance from the soil, from the harvest, from the kill- diminishes our capacity to appreciate what it is the Earth provides us.  And this is perhaps one of the few consistant values that many American Indins share: we have been told by the Creator that we have an obligation to be grateful to these Relatives, and to this Earth.  It follows that we should have an appreciation and relationship of gratitude with them all.   We are cautioned not to take their sacrifices lightly, even as our own bodies will someday break down and ours Spirits journey on.  Everywhere we go, we are reminded to take notice of sunrise and sunset, of changes in the Moon and tides, to observe the Sun, the stars, the sky, and the wind.  We comment on the rain and the snow.  We talk of the spring thaw or frozen winter, the heat of the summer, or the colors of fall.  We watch the animal families as they move about on the earth- or in the sky- and we see our place among them. Despite the destruction of our old way of life- we are grateful and happy to still be a part of this wonder.

Sacred Stones

 Grandfather says,
     Rock People,
       are alive.
          Everywhere,
            he sees
              Family.
               Caresses shrub,
                  hugs tree,
                     sheds shoes to feel
                         grass,
                           water,
                              rock.
Civilized men,
   enamored
      of blood and flesh,
         never acknowledge
            their relationship
              to silent relatives.
                   Grandpa says
                        cigar-store Indins
                           look that way
                             because
                                they're practicing
                                   to be rocks....

          The key word is Relatives.  Human beings have relationships with one another.  Often modern people whose relationships have gone awry feel alone.  They have no relationship with the Earth or her families.  Their appreciation for their environment is more like one viewing a pretty postcard than one experiencing the awesome creation and beauty of our world.  If  only they were to develop their relationships with their non-human relatives they would find that, even in the absence of human beings, one is never alone!
 
 "Be careful with your words
                         there are always ears...
                                                    tree beneath window
                                                    stone beneath blanket."
          " The Earth is alive!  If you go away from people and sit in a quiet place you will hear its life.  There are lives that fly, that swim, that live under the ground, that grow green or colorful, that bear fruit, that walk on four legs or on two.  The very soil has microbial and bacteriological life necessary to nurture the seeds for sprouting and growth.  The life of the fire opens certain pine cones to release their seed.
             The air, water, and rock provide gasses, nutrients, moisture and stability to create the living environment that sustains those that grow in one spot, or who fly, swim, crawl or walk.  Because the plant does not have eyes to cry from, or bleeds green--not red, is that to say it does not mourn the passing of its fruit or the ending of its life?  Even doubting science has proven that trees and plants respond to human relationships.  Now it is true that a rock, or a shrub, or a tree may not respond in the same way that a human being responds.  That is why we humans, as caretakers of this world,  feel a special relationship to each other- we share similar needs and the Creator has placed love in our hearts between us.  But each indivdual family has its place in Creation- its purpose and its tasks.  For many it is simply to survive.  And from each family there are lessons that can be learned.  There is great comfort to be found in sharing the afternoon sun sitting with a large familiar and reliable rock, or strength to be felt hugging the rough bark of a strong tree swaying gently in a stiff afternoon breeze.  If a rose thorn grabs our skin we bleed gladly to give back what we have taken for the beauty of its flower.   When we harvest the corn we know the plants miss their fruit as we do our children gone away.  We sing to them, give thanks and love them for their sacrifice.  The same respect is given the animals who bleed and give their lives for us- we sing and comfort them, and pray for a blessing for their families, that they'll have what they need.  For Human Beings, our purpose and task is to nurture, protect and allow each family, human or not, a certain space for its life.  And we have one more obligation- to appreciate and be grateful always- for all of our Relatives, Our Grandmother- who supports our feet, and for the most High &Holy- who has given us this life."
 
               We are given free-will to pursue whatever we will in our lives.  It is unfortunate that Human Beings have chosen the paths of destruction of  ourselves, our relatives and of the very Earth we rely on for our sustenance.  Like disobediant children we have pursued our interests at a breakneck speed, disregarding the consequences.
               The Hopi have a Prophecy that Humans choose which path they take.  One leads to the Creator and one to the Whirlwind.  It is their opinion that in this, the Fourth World, we have chosen the Whirlwind.  Whether or not it is too late is unknown.  But whatever the outcome- our responsibilites
have never changed.
               Appreciate this gift of life.  Share it with all the Families of Creation.  Treat that which sustains you as Sacred, with respect. Wake up and go to bed with the knowledge that you are never alone- and though they may not speak it so you can hear-  all your relatives on this world share this gratitude and feel your presence.  Even Nishkehehmon, our Grandmother Earth.

              The Day You Close My Eyes

        There is a mountain meadow green
            That waits for my return
              With pine and sage and crystal streams
                 Lined with feathery fern.
                   Thickets where the fat grouse lie
                     Trails where elk still run
                       Here is a place to spread my ash
                         When these tumbleweed days are done.
          There is a painted high plateau
            That waits for my return
               With prickly pear and pinion pine
                  Fresh cedar boughs to burn.
                    Arroyo beds with flashflood dreams
                      Chokecherries ripe and fine
                        Coyote howls at a million stars
                          And every one is mine.
          There is a cold and rocky shore
            That waits for my return
              With green kelp whips and white driftwood
                New seagull chants to learn.
                  Spume and froth and shifting sand
                    Tides mate with a yielding beach
                      Far horizons melt in fog
                        But are never out of reach.
          There is a hand-drum on the wall
            That waits for my return
              Children that I love to squeeze
                A clay pot yet to turn.
                  Embers crouch in a pipestone bowl
                    Where sweet prayers yearn to rise
                      All this you'll see reflected, dear
                        On the day you close my eyes.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              early April evening 99